


Upholding Tradition

by CrookshanksAgentofOWCA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bella and Voldy's relationship is a complete secret so naturally all the Death Eaters know, Christmas, Death Eater Party, Early Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Various Death Eaters - Freeform, soft bellamort, under the mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28145829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrookshanksAgentofOWCA/pseuds/CrookshanksAgentofOWCA
Summary: At the annual Death Eater Christmas Party, Bellatrix and Voldemort somehow end up under the mistletoe together. Whatever will happen next? ;)
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Voldemort
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Upholding Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this like two years ago but never posted it. So I'm posting it now cause tis the season. This is probably the most cliche Christmas fanfic trope but I wanted a Bellamort version.

“Something wrong, my Lord?” Bellatrix asked as her master glanced at the clock for the fifth time in the last five minutes. His gaze darted back to her, looking a bit startled, as though he hadn’t expected her to be watching him so intently.

“What? No…everything’s fine.” His eyes flickered over to the clock again.

Bellatrix looked around the room, wondering what could be bothering him. There was certainly a lot going on, as this year’s official Malfoy Christmas Party was in full swing.

Lucius and Narcissa were holding court by the largest Christmas tree (there were three in the dining hall and twenty-seven total throughout the house, all decorated with a refined amount of silver and pearl ornaments, magically shrunken live peacocks and enchanted snowflakes). They were making toasts; Narcissa waving her hands around, showing off the large, shiny engagement ring Lucius had given her almost as soon as they graduated from Hogwarts.

Over by the buffet table, Dolohov and Travers seemed to be dueling over the last shrimp cocktail, while Rabastan, clearly very drunk, chanted, “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

The center of the room had been turned into a dance floor and several couples twirled around it, enjoying the holiday tunes that were being played by an Imperiused Muggle band. A number of the younger recruits, who hadn’t quite grown up yet, were chasing each other around the room, weaving between the dancers and climbing over furniture. All in all, it was a fairly standard party. There was no reason for the Dark Lord to be so on edge. Was there something she didn’t know about? A threat from the Order? Some secret, vital mission that was being undertaken at this very moment? Trying to suppress her hurt at not being included in this hypothetical plan, she scanned the room again. All of Voldemort’s inner circle seemed to be present and surely he wouldn’t have entrusted the lesser Death Eaters with anything important. Bellatrix took another gulp of eggnog, wondering if she should drop the subject or pursue it further.

It wasn’t always wise to attempt an honest conversation with Lord Voldemort, but he and Bellatrix had always gotten along rather well and in recent months they’d grown even closer.

They weren’t dating, exactly, as Voldemort insisted he was above such things, but they were spending a lot of time together outside of official Death Eater business. If he were going to confide in anyone, it would be her. She drank some more eggnog, took a deep breath and said,

“Are you sure? Because you seem rather on edge.”

He sighed.

“If you must know, I’m trying to figure out how much longer I have to wait until it will be socially acceptable to leave this party.”  
This response caught Bellatrix off guard. The great Lord Voldemort, whose mind was usually occupied with complex machinations and ancient curses, was simply experiencing the oh-so-human feeling of being trapped at an unwanted social engagement? She smirked.

“What, you’re not enjoying yourself?”

“Well…there are some pleasant bits.”  
“The food?”  
Voldemort glanced around to make sure no one could hear them, than said in a low voice,

“You, mainly.” Bella felt herself go red. That was embarrassing.

“Me?” she squeaked, trying and failing to sound casual. Voldemort looked embarrassed, too. Instead of the clock, he was now gazing at the floor.

“Uh…yes, you. I mean, well…you look lovely in that dress.” Bellatrix shifted her feet slightly so that the skirt of her silver gown rippled.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she murmured, trying not to grin _too_ much.

“And I enjoyed dancing with you earlier,” he went on. “But I always feel out of place at these sort of events. It’s important for me to be here of course—if people are going to follow me, they need to like me and it’s a good chance to meet potential new followers, since all the notable Pureblood families are here. I loathe making polite conversation, though. I prefer to just say what I think and kill anyone who disagrees with me.”

“Yes, that’s one of the things I—” Bellatrix caught herself before she could say _love—_ “admire about you.” He smiled at her.

“And I appreciate that. But you’re unique in that respect. Gaining power isn’t all violence and threats; sometimes it’s shaking hands and pretending to care. I never could have been a politician. It’s too much of this and not nearly enough power.”

Bellatrix nodded, understanding.

“I never liked parties much either. Not formal ones, at least.”  
“Really?” He seemed amused. “I would think you’ve attended quite a few of them, given your noble blood.”  
“I didn’t mind them so much when I was younger and I could run wild like those nutters with my sister and cousins,” she admitted, nodding in the direction of Mulciber, who was standing a top a sofa, pelting bits of bread at Avery, who was sliding down the bannister. “But as soon as I turned thirteen my mother informed me that now I was a ‘young lady’ and had to ‘behave properly.’”

Voldemort chuckled.

“I’m sure that went over well.”  
“In less than a year, I had beat my Uncle Alphard’s record for ‘Family Member Who Ruined the Most Parties’,” she boasted. “But that just made Mother angrier. She continued forcing me into more and more uncomfortable dress robes and straightening my hair. That was also about the time when she started shoving me at stupid Rodolphus.” The Dark Lord gave her a look that was almost sad, as if he didn’t like hearing about a time she’d been unhappy. A second later he forced his face back to its usual blank expression, determined not to show emotion. He glanced around the room for a change of subject.

“Where is Rodolphus, anyway?”  
“Right there.” Bella pointed to the smallest Christmas tree, hidden in the corner. “He was annoying me, so I Transfigured him.”

“Ah. While I admire your magical skill and completely sympathize with your frustration with him, I do ask that you have in back to normal in time for our meeting next week.”  
“Of course, my Lord…unless he ‘accidentally’ gets set on fire or—”

“Bellatrix.”

“Alright; alright! Are you _sure_ I can’t just kill him?”  
“No. He’s a good Death Eater.”  
“He’s not _that_ good.”

“None of them are, compared to you.”

Bellatrix felt a silly grin spread across her face, than shook her head as if trying to dislodge certain thoughts.

“Your flattery won’t make me hate him less,” she mumbled.

“It’s not intended to. I actually like that you hate him. But I do need him alive.”

“Fine,” Bella sighed. “I suppose he is useful for demonstrating curses to new recruits.”

She noticed Cissy giving her a pointed look from across the room and wondered what she’d done this time. Maybe she thought Bella was being rude, only talking to the Dark Lord and ignoring the other guests. Maybe she’d figured out that Bella had replaced one of her meticulously planned decorations with her Transfigured husband. Whatever it was, her sister would just have to get over it. Turning back to Voldemort, she said,

“For the record, once you do leave, this won’t be much of a party.”

“Well…you don’t have to stay.”  
“Yeah, I guess not, but it’s not like I have anything better to do.”  
“No, I mean…you could leave with me. We could go for a walk.”

The noise of the party seemed to fade, as if they were the only two in the room.

“Oh! Yes!” The two of them had been going on walks together for years, originally so they could discuss evil plans and Voldemort could teach her some more advanced dark magic that he didn’t trust just _any_ Death Eater with. But as time went on, they had started to talk about more personal things and their last three walks had even ended in snogging. Hoping she didn’t sound too eager, Bella tried to backpedal,

“That is…if that’s what you’d like to do, I am okay with that.”

“Very well, then.”

She couldn’t be completely sure but she thought Voldemort sounded rather pleased. “Hopefully we should be able to slip away soon.”

They glanced around, only to find everyone staring at them. Everyone on the dance floor had frozen. Cissy was still giving Bella a look that seemed to say: _Hey! Pay attention!_ and Lucius looked dumbfounded beside her. Alecto Carrow was frantically nudging her brother and pointing in their direction. Dolohov and Travers had paused their duel (which Dolohov seemed to be winning, judging by the purple tentacles sprouting from Travers’ face) and Rabastan looked like he had just gotten to the most dramatic bit in a novel and couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

“Or not,” Voldemort muttered agitatedly. “Why is everyone staring at us?”

_Probably mocking me,_ Bella thought. She wasn’t very good at hiding her feelings for the Dark Lord, which the other Death Eaters found highly amusing.

But as she glared back at the staring faces, she realized they were all tilted upward…they weren’t staring at her and Voldemort…they were staring at something above their heads. Voldemort seemed to reach the same conclusion at the same time and, in unison, they both looked up.

Directly above their heads floated a small branch covered in green leaves and berries.

“Mistletoe,” Bellatrix breathed. She remembered Cissy babbling before the party about how she had enchanted this mistletoe to drift about the room, periodically stopping over couples with “the most romantic energy.” Bella had scoffed at this at the time, insisting there was no spell that would make a plant able to detect romance. Her brain was still fairly sure it was stopping at random but her heart was beating exponentially faster. Voldemort looked distinctly uncomfortable. As far as he was concerned, love was the greatest weakness of all and this pathetic sprig was suddenly telling the whole room he was infected with it. He took a step back, so he was no longer under the mistletoe, but it moved with him, so that it was still exactly halfway between the two of them. He took another step back and it moved again. He glanced at the door, as if he was considering making a run for it, then decided that would not look good and moved back toward Bella. She noticed he was careful to leave about a foot of space between them.

“Right. What do we do?” he asked in a voice of barely restrained panic.

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows.

“You do know what people usually do under mistletoe, right?”

_And it’s not like we’ve never done it before._

Voldemort frowned at her. She didn’t need to be a Legilimens to know what he was thinking:  
 _Never in front of other people._

“It is tradition, my Lord!” Rasbastan called across the room.

“You do realize Bellatrix is married to your brother, don’t you?” Voldemort replied, ignoring Bella’s disgusted face at the reminder of her marriage.

“Yeah but I’m bored. We could use some family drama.”

“There’s something wrong with you. Besides, Bellatrix is one of my Death Eaters! It would be highly inappropriate for us to—to—uh….”

“With all due respect, my Lord,” piped up Amycus Carrow, “If it’s under mistletoe, it doesn’t really mean anything. But you’re still supposed to do it.”  
“It is very important to uphold ancient traditions,” Pyrites wheezed. “Isn’t that the whole point of the Death Eaters? To stop Mudbloods from destroying our way of life?”  
“I hardly think the whole of Pureblood society rests on mistletoe,” Voldemort snapped. “Besides, don’t Muggles have the same tradition?”

There was a general murmuring throughout the room.

“They probably stole it from us,” Bellatrix argued. “And mistletoe means more in Wizarding society, anyway. It’s an important ingredient in several potions.”  
More murmuring.

“She’s right!” Pyrites called out. “We can’t allow Muggles to corrupt such a sacred plant!”  
“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Voldemort cried. “What happens between me and Bellatrix under this ridiculous plant has no effect on our fight whatsoever—”

His voice trailed off as more, rather displeased muttering rose. He looked at Bella. There was a weird mixture of longing and panic in his eyes. She tilted her head, challenging him. He took a deep breath and turned back to the crowd, ready to change tactics.

“Okay, so perhaps the mistletoe tradition _is_ important. But are we sure this is really mistletoe? It looks more like holly to me.”

“WHAT?!” cried Bella, half-laughing. “Why would it be holly?!”  
“I don’t know why, but I’m fairly certain it is,” he insisted.

“No way!” Bella shook her head, her hair flying around her face. “It’s definitely mistletoe. Er—my Lord,” she added hastily. More noise rang through the room as all the other Death Eaters shouted out which plant they thought it was.

“It’s definitely mistletoe,” Narcissa insisted. “I bought it. I should know.”  
“Are you sure, darling?” Lucius asked, smirking maliciously at Bellatrix. “I think the Dark Lord’s right—it’s holly.”  
“It’s clearly holly,” Dolohov proclaimed.

“You’re mad!” shouted Travers. “Anyone can see it’s mistletoe!” Dolohov jinxed him and he fell to the floor, giggling weakly.

“Who cares!” Rabastan called, pouring himself more wine. “Just kiss!”

“ENOUGH!” shouted Voldemort. “Since none of us are sure which plant it is—”

“OI, SNIVELLUS!” Bella shouted at the group of new recruits huddled in the corner.

A boy with a hooked nose and greasy black hair emerged.

“Severus,” he corrected.

“Whatever.”  
“You’re Sirius Black’s cousin, aren’t you?”  
“I used to be, till he turned out to be a blood-traitor. Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be some kind of potions expert?”

He puffed out his chest proudly.

“Yes. I’m also proficient in various forms of Dark Magic—”

“Settle this debate for us, preferably in _my_ favor.” She pointed upward. “Holly or mistletoe?” The room took a collective deep breath. Severus Snape looked up, stared at the plant for a bit, then stared at both Bellatrix and Voldemort in turn. They both stared back, intently. After a long silence, he said,  
“It’s mistletoe.”

There were cheers from the crowd. Bellatrix grinned.

“There, you see, my Lord? I was right. Potions Boy said so himself.”  
“ _Severus,”_ Snape repeated, but was ignored. Voldemort looked like he was trying to come up with another argument and failing.

“Oh, very well,” he sighed. “But _only_ because it’s an important tradition.”  
Very slowly, somewhat awkwardly, he leaned down and touched his lips to Bella’s. She leaned into the kiss; sure it wouldn’t last long but determined to enjoy it nonetheless. To her surprise, the Dark Lord didn’t immediately pull away. It was hard to say exactly how long it went on—it both felt like forever and not long enough—but by the time they broke apart his hands were in her hair, hers were wrapped around him and they were both slightly out of breath. There were hoots and whistles from the watching Death Eaters. Bella tensed, expecting Voldemort to jump away from her and insist that what had just happened meant nothing and was never to be mentioned again, but he just kept staring at her. He had a strange, almost tender look on his face.

“My Lord?”

He shook his head, then seemed to come back to the moment.

“There!” He called to the crowd. “We’re following tradition! Happy?”  
Everyone cheered, the branch above them floated on to Lucius and Narcissa and the party carried on.

Bellatrix wasn’t entirely sure what to say. She knew Voldemort didn’t like talking about his feelings but she was extremely curious about what was going on in his head. She was afraid he might be mad about the mistletoe and embarrassed about having to kiss her in front of everyone, but he _had_ kissed her and the look he’d given her afterwards hadn’t seemed angry or ashamed. If she didn’t know better, she’d even say it had been… _loving._

_Don’t think that._ She chided herself. _Don’t get your hopes up for nothing. He_ can’t _love but he likes spending time with you and kissing you. That’s enough. That’s more than you thought possible._

A few moments of awkward silence passed, than Voldemort abruptly asked,

“Would you like to dance?”  
“I thought you were leaving,” she replied, confused.

“ _We_ were leaving. But if we both leave now, it will be far too suspicious.” He sighed heavily. “We’ll have to stay for the rest of the party.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, my Lord. I didn’t think of that.”  
“It’s fine.” He held out his hand. “I’m beginning to enjoy myself anyway.”

Bellatrix grinned, took his hand and led him out on to the dance floor.

“Happy Christmas, my Lord,” she said as they began to sway together. He smiled and twirled her elegantly.

“Happy Christmas, Bellatrix.”

  
  
Over by the fire, Severus Snape sat down next to Avery and Mulciber, who were whispering and giggling about what had just happened.

“For the record,” he told them. “It was actually holly. But she looked like she was going to kill me and based on the way he’d been staring at her all night, I figured the Dark Lord wouldn’t actually mind kissing her. Anyway, is anyone else disturbed by how many dunderheads honestly can’t tell the difference between mistletoe and holly?!”


End file.
